It's not even a blog, really... I just made it so I could get an account. It was a harrowing experience, and I don't want to relive it... just leave me alone!

Monday, February 21, 2011

January 29, 1967 - February 18, 2034

When I was in college, I worked out what day I was going to die.

More correctly, I figured out a day that would be freaky for me to die on. Especially if I end up having a 19-year-old son on that day.

See, Grandpa Riggs passed away, it was Valentine's Day. He was 65. He had a son who was 17. The son was Dad.

When Dad died, it was two days after Valentine's Day. He was 66. He had a son who was 18. That was me.

So if I die on February 18, 2034, and if I have a son who is 19... well, first of all: how freaky would it be for me to have a kid, right? But that poor kid only has 49 years left to live and is for sure going to kick the bucket on February 20--and have a kid who is 20.

I may have some of those numbers wrong, by the way. I was home at some point during my college years and found an obituary for Grandpa Riggs. I got that info from there, and I used it to figure out my "wouldn't it be cool if..." death date. It's been twenty-some-odd years, and I have no idea where that obituary is now. So maybe my kid will be 17, because maybe Dad was 19...

The only thing I remember clearly is the date. I hope I make it. I would love to be breathing a sigh of relief just after midnight on February 19, 2034.

But, you know, whatever. Just wanted to make an official note of it, just in case.

1 comment:

You know, I have read some of your weird-a$$ posts and commented with love. And I say this with love, too. This is freaky sh*t. Lost style freaky. It is bizarro to predict your death date dude. Tell you what. I give it to you, but make sure you that decide to live each day as full as possible between now and then if that is when you are going to "kick off." Literally live like you are dying. Since, technically, we all are. Have some fun with that.